A Fleeting Camellia
by Austerulous
Summary: Midoriya makes her UA debut alongside a rowdy boyfriend. (Fem Deku)
1. Prologue

Her mother claimed that Midoriya's first words were "justice" _._

Of course, this wasn't nearly the case—Midoriya was never one to believe in happenstance. Abstract concepts such as "destiny" and "determinism" were just that: abstract. Heroes, fundamentally, were a consequence of willpower and unadulterated drive. Things like luck had no place in hero society.

For her own sanity, Midoriya reminded herself of these ideals every day.

 _Today is bright, isn't it?_ Her waking words weren't something that could be written within the annals of gospel. Frankly, you couldn't frame them on a fridge without a tinge of embarrassment. Midoriya, ultimately, was a simple girl with a simple dream. Perhaps that was one of her greatest flaws.

For all her preparation, she never expected to reach the end goal.

Attending Aldera Junior High had become something of an automatic response for Midoriya, particularly as a side effect of her alarm going off. It wasn't that Midoriya disliked school—much the opposite, in fact. School was a time of betterment and education, two skills that Midoriya felt were quintessential towards becoming a greater hero. However, Bakugou ruined most enjoyment that she could hope to garner.

It was around the twenty-first of April when it first happened. A sudden wrench that seemed to disrupt the well-worn pattern at the very seams. The reintroduction of Bakugou into Midoriya's life.

For reasons she wasn't made aware of, Bakugou did not attend the beginning of the spring season, instead arriving to Aldera Junior High a scant two weeks later. He arrived in traditional Bakugou fashion, throwing open the door with a sneer and parade of nobodies, each one seeking to gather any amount of prestige they could by riding his coattails. With a singular motion, they quickly dispersed, and his expression became something more akin to apprehension.

"Hey Deku, got some time after school?"

It flowed from his lips like a gentle river, clean of the usual Bakugou eccentricities. Those were the first words he said to her. A tone foreign to Midoriya's ears.

She hesitated before responding.

"I—…"

"That wasn't meant to be a question," he growled, "it's an ultimatum—come behind the school at four or die."

With that, he trudged away, hands in his pockets and an irritated expression plastered against his rugged face.

— _...Huh?_

Midoriya could scarcely comprehend what had just happened.

Bakugou's first words almost sounded foreign, having dealt with his superiority complex for nearly nine years now. They were shaky, almost unsure, as if any moment the fiery youth would backtrack and attempt to punish her lack of understanding with an explosion to the face.

Yet instead, she had got an awkward request that transitioned straight into a ire-filled demand.

 _Bakugou, what are you thinking—..?_

* * *

Bakugou was late.

Midoriya was standing behind the school, as requested. The spring breeze brought with it a blinding array of cherry blossoms, threatening to blindside her with their alluring yet distracting dance. Her job, as it were, was to focus on Bakugou's arrival, on the off chance this entire scene was a backdrop to a sneak attack, or perhaps an extended bullying session brought upon by their lack of communication.

Summer built up stress for Bakugou, after all.

Unexpectedly, though, Bakugou arrived rather solemn. His feet were almost indecisive, yet he pushed forward as if the mere thought of turning back disgusted him. When he glanced up finally, he was a scant five feet from Midoriya, and his face was lined with irritation.

Actually, it was a mix of irritation and confusion, like he didn't yet understand what he was doing.

"...Midoriya."

"—...Oh, er, Kacchan?"

Midoriya phrased it like a question.

"Go out with me."

—…

— _...Wait, what?_


	2. Chapter 1

Bakugou had purchased a bundle of daffodils _._

He knew the cultural meaning behind them—somewhat. In truth, he was just too embarrassed to appear in front of Midoriya with camellias.

Daffodils were honestly the greatest gift Bakugou could think to give somebody. They stood for respect, a symbolic representation of Bakugou's inner turmoil. Instead of bringing camellias, a flower whose general meaning was "love" and "nobility", concepts he didn't truly understand, he was instead giving someone the gift of standing by his side.

Essentially, the "respect" offered by Bakugou was more akin to saying "you are one of the few people in this world on my level".

It sounded arrogant, in that regard, but Bakugou saw no problem with it. For all his posturing to his mother, he truly did see himself as a superior being. Through genetics, Bakugou obtained a position amongst the heavens, to which he was able to judge all those beneath him with smug satisfaction.

In the past, when Midoriya would steel herself with the phrase "I'll become as strong as you one day", Bakugou didn't see it as the words of respect they were. Instead, he took it as a slight, as if claiming his perch could ever be reached by mortal man.

So he shot her down. Time and time again.

But she merely got back up.

If anything, her perseverance was admirable—but perseverance didn't make a hero.

It was the power to look your enemy dead in the eyes, and amidst all the terror and carnage around you, smile in spite of it.

Izuku Midoriya, in Bakugou's estimate, didn't have that power.

That was the fundamental difference between them.

"Go out with me."

His heart was truly pounding against his chest. It took all his willpower to prevent himself from smiling.

The feeling was very similar to fighting. He wanted to relish in these emotions, the same way he did in practice.

It was exhilarating—this was a situation his raw power in-of-itself couldn't solve. Normally, that should be frustrating, but he was enjoying the situation too much to care.

Bakugou had become firmly entrapped in the shackles of love.

* * *

To describe the moment Bakugou fell in love with Midoriya would be difficult. In short, it could be compared to a gradual climb, where Bakugou's inner feelings began to slowly become known as he processed them through his analytical mind. That was true, to an extent, but it also wasn't accurate.

The feelings that had begun nurturing inside Bakugou, instead, were admiration.

Every time Midoriya got back to her feet, he could feel his admiration grow. Little by little, Bakugou was tamed by the pressure she exerted. In their bouts, her emotions reached him loud and clear. You could say that they spoke with their actions, rather than their words.

For Bakugou, that was the only way he could ever hope to talk with Midoriya.

Two sides of the same coin. Two aspiring heroes upholding the ideals of All Might.

Eventually, Bakugou stopped his relentless bullying. If one were to paint a graph, it was an exponential curve downwards, until Bakugou felt no longer able to challenge his self-proclaimed rival. Her pressure was just that, overwhelming.

It was autumn of last year when his first earth-shattering revelation occurred.

"She really is dumb, isn't she, Tadasu?"

 _Hm?_

For the first time since they had begun walking home, Bakugou absentmindedly removed his headphones, which were producing enough ear-blasting music to deafen any other person whose quirk wasn't volatile explosions.

"The worst kind of human; she doesn't see herself as the dirt she truly is," Tadasu adjusted his glasses, the tentacles of his hair swirling slightly as the rims caused them to jiggle, "this world is controlled by those who have power—someone like that could never succeed."

"Are you thinking to 'educate' her, Tadasu?" The impish Seiichi giggled, motioning towards Tadasu's barbed tentacles.

"Not in the slightest—understand that I never do the dirty work myself. My only task is to find like-minded individuals, unlike those garbage worms in the adjacent classes."

Bakugou mentally rolled his eyes. To be honest, he never got to know the rabble of hooligans that postured themselves around him. They wanted attention, fame, and a quick path to power. Bakugou wouldn't offer those to them even if he _could_ , yet they took to him like moths to a flame.

As long as they stayed out of his way, though, the appearance it gave him was beneficial. Nobody would get the wrong idea that Bakugou was weak—if they said it to his face, they'd die. But since most people tended to keep their thoughts to themselves, Bakugou had to go an extra route to ascertain that nobody would ever have such disillusions.

"Who are you losers talking about?" Bakugou asked, the mention of a dumb girl temporarily ending his facade of nonchalance.

"Midoriya, obviously!" Seiichi giggled once more, his eyes twisting about in their sockets like the cycle of a washing machine.

"Right," Bakugou sighed.

"Speaking of which, Seiichi, Tadasu, did you hear about the rumors circling about the school?" Ienobu, Aldera Junior High's resident gossip, grinned.

"Rumors?" Tadasu questioned, frowning, "I don't care much for them, so no."

"I was gone for a few days, so me neither."

Ienobu laughed, a sickening sound that caused Bakugou to wince. He quickly shoved the other earbud back into his ear. Out of all the worms that surrounded him, Ienobu was probably the worst.

"You see, they say Midoriya has been going into Yasuhiko-sensei's room for 'special classes'."

Seiichi gasped, and Tadasu merely raised an eyebrow.

"So? She needs extra help; we already established that she's dumb."

"You don't understand, my dim-witted Tadasu," Ienobu's sing-song voice taunted, causing Tadasu to wince in anger, "Midoriya's grades are already at the top. In fact, she probably has Bakugou beat."

 _She does, moron, but that doesn't mean you should say it. Want me to kill you?_ That's what Bakugou wanted to say, of course, but he was pretending not to hear them. After all, if he interacted with them regularly, they would come to expect it. Such troublesome idiots.

"Then what—..?" Tadasu began, but before he could finish, he broke out into a laugh.

"You get it now Tadasu? Ah, that's rich!" Seiichi laughed as well his eyeballs popping out of their sockets.

Bakugou growled, tearing the headphones from his ears.

"What the hell are you idiots blabbering about?" He snarled.

"A student, going into a teacher's room after hours, and suddenly garnering some of the best grades this academy has ever seen?" Ienobu snickered, "I knew you were dense when it came to these matters, Bakugou, but come on. Even Tadasu picked up on it."

"What—…" Bakugou eyed Ienobu down, rage flickering between his eyes.

"Alright, alright. I'll explain it." Ienobu chuckled, turning to face him. The group's momentum stopped as they all stood in front of Ienobu, waiting for the words to exit his mouth.

"Midoriya—…" Ienobu grinned, "is a slut."

 _Is a slut—…_ The words ran through Bakugou's mind like a switch, yet no matter how he processed them, he didn't receive a single result.

"What do you mean…" Bakugou growled, his eyes staring Ienobu down with the intensity of a wolf eyeing his prey.

Ienobu held out his hands as if he didn't even notice, "I mean, whatever else could it? I'm sure she hasn't picked up a textbook in her life. At this point, I wouldn't be surprised if she's run through the entire list of teachers by now. Maybe we should start asking the other students if she—…"

Before Ienobu could finish the thought, his textbook was torn from his hands, and his body went flying, smacking against the cool metal of a iron-wrought streetlight. His body staggered to the ground, more out of surprise than pain. That was expected—his body had entered a state of adrenaline. Bakugou had grown accustomed to that response.

Not a single quirk was fired. In Bakugou's mind, his quirk was meant for two things: to put someone in their place, and to battle it out with someone he respected.

Ienobu was definitely not the former, and by uttering his bullshit directly to Bakugou's face earlier, he had already cemented his place amongst the worms.

"If any of you, _any of you,_ dare say anything as mentally-deficient as that again, I will dig your graves _personally_."

With that, Bakugou tossed his textbook to the curb and strode away, his eyes alight with pure, unadulterated rage.

* * *

Later that night, Bakugou had a realization.

He hadn't stopped thinking about Midoriya for a moment.

 _What if they were right?_ That was the only thought that ran through his mind. Why did it bother him so much? What was this crushing feeling in his chest?

Ienobu wasn't right about much, but he was right about one thing—Bakugou was dense in matters of love.

He sat up, slamming his fists against his pillow repeatedly. But his pillow didn't prove him with an answer. He growled again, flipping onto his back and staring at the ceiling with an oppressive air.

 _I'll ask her tomorrow_... He thought, lumbering himself into a deep sleep.

* * *

Bakugou's jaw was open.

He was currently standing in front of Midoriya and Yasuhiko-sensei, who had just asked him a question that melted his mind.

"In short, Midoriya gave me the idea to enlist your help in the Junior Studies Division," Yasuhiko-sensei said, passing Bakugou a signature sheet, "she's right, you know. You're incredibly smart. This could help you get into a good college down the line, and you'd even gain some national recognition."

It was a request for him to join a damn scholar contest.

"You think I would want to be recognized for some dumb intelligence competition? Dream on, Deku."

He threw open the door to the classroom and strode down the hall, ensuring that every clack of his shoes against the wood floors was audible.

 _Why the hell did I even think about believing him? Damn Ienobu, go to hell!_

* * *

"I-I mean, I don't really, I k-kind of, well…"

Midoriya had started rambling. Bakugou expected this out of her.

She was blushing profusely, in an adorable sort of way, and every twitch of her legs made her appear every bit of the prey she was destined to be.

If Midoriya was the prey, then it was only natural that Bakugou would be the hunter.

"Can I t-think about it—..?" She asked sheepishly, glancing at Bakugou for confirmation.

Bakugou strode forward, immediately causing Midoriya to flinch back. Her head pressed against the brick-laid walls, and Bakugou's hand came aggressively close to her face as he whispered.

"You can think about it all you want, and you can even decline if you feel like it. But just know that no matter what you decide, one day I will make you mine," he smiled.

With that, Bakugou took a step back, awkwardly thrusting the daffodils into her hands. Right, he had completely forgot about those.

His routine ruined, he quickly hoisted his school bag over his shoulder and jogged away, sweat pouring down his face like a particularly-porous pitcher.

 _I screwed that up…_ He berated himself internally, striding out of the school grounds. Before he knew it, he had reached the street corner of his house.

He spun around, Aldera Junior High appearing to be a mere ant against the city skyline.

 _I wonder what she'll answer…_ He thought.


	3. Chapter 2

**A bit of an author's note on the last chapter. The word Ienobu used to describe Midoriya was "yariman", whose closest English-equivalent is "slut".**

" **Yariman" in Japan, however, is a lot more crude and personal than "slut" within the English language. It hails from two other words, "yaru", to give, and "manko", a certain piece of female genitalia.**

 **As this is a grave accusation, as well as a cultural taboo, it is rarely utilized by any person with even a below average amount of self-respect. Essentially, calling Ienobu an "asshole" is a bit generous. If Bakugou wasn't currently preoccupied sorting out his feelings, we might have just witnessed manslaughter.**

 **Now, back to the story.**

* * *

They say camellias were a bad "get well" present _._

The reason was utterly simplistic—upon death, the blossoms of a camellia will wilt, and eventually "behead" themselves in dramatic-like fashion. For that reason, Midoriya was glad Bakugou gave her daffodils, for she may have attempted to follow the path of the camellia otherwise.

The clock was nearing midnight, yet Midoriya was still awake in her bed. The reason, like the camellia, was also simple. Bakugou was on her mind—actually, it was more apt to say Bakugou was exploding violently within her thoughts, refusing to grant her even a moment of sleep.

For the studious Midoriya, who for her life had made it one of her nine principles to be asleep by ten, it was rather problematic.

It wasn't a question of "yes or no". Midoriya hadn't even gotten that far in her mind. She was still deciding how she would interact with Bakugou the next day, much less respond to his confession.

 _I don't know what to do…_ If there was someone she could confide with, that would be a godsend.

Unfortunately, Midoriya had no friends, and her mother was the overprotective sort. Inko would have loved to give her daughter advice on relationships, naturally, but that knowledge is what kept Midoriya away.

It wasn't just that she felt her mother's advice would be inadequate—she was also embarrassed. And as Midoriya's mind was the analytical type, she couldn't begin to formulate a response before understanding the _why_.

That was what made this situation so abnormal. Bakugou was firmly acting out-of-character.

If Midoriya had paid more attention, however, she would see that he was entirely acting within the realms of possibility. But unfortunately, she was guilty of the same sins that Bakugou was; she ignored everything except her outward perception. Inside the awkward shell of a bully was a heart of gold, held back by a thousand chains and a superiority that knew no bounds.

It had just begun to dawn at her that Bakugou was more complex than she led herself to believe.

Midoriya was surrounded by a large variety of throw pillows. In fact, the young girl almost appeared to be drowning in them, ready to be carried off to their body pillow overlords. Her white t-shirt was loose-fitting, and her simple plaid pajamas were colored with white and blue lines. In her mind's eye, she appeared an avatar of normalcy. A girl lacking the unique flare that other young women her age had begun to develop.

She was plain. A backdrop for the main story. The personification of acquiescence.

Such a pseudo-human, who looked both ways before crossing a one-way street, did not deserve to be put in the same ranks as Katsuki Bakugou.

 _If I had to look back at my current nine years of school and point out every one of the thousand individuals whom I had shared the same space, yet were insignificant, I promise you the answer would be very despairing._

 _I was not somebody who influenced lives._

So what did Bakugou see in her?

Midoriya sprawled outwards, knocking a few of her throw pillows onto the ground.

 _I guess I'll just act normal around him…_

* * *

Acting normal didn't work.

Or rather, I suppose you could say it worked _too_ well.

Every attempt at conversation was rebuffed by Bakugou turning heel. In fact, it seemed the fiery youth was taking every opportunity _not_ to look Midoriya in the eye.

For the indecisive Midoriya, it only succeeded in further confusing her.

 _Does he not like me anymore? Actually, did he ever like me in the first place?_

Although Midoriya didn't quite believe it, there was always the option that the whole affair was one large prank. The only thing that kept her sane was the fact that she knew Bakugou wouldn't be big on those.

After all, he had gotten his kicks for the past few years with a more _direct_ form of bullying.

Midoriya let out a long sigh, throwing open the door to Aldera Junior High's rooftop. At the very least, she could get some fresh air during lunch.

That was her plan, anyway.

Sitting against the school's front door was a prune of a man. At least, that's how Midoriya would describe him at first glance.

He was shriveled up, almost like all the energy had been sucked out of him. His face was mostly concave, painting an even further contrast against his lifeless eyes. His hair was unkempt and blonde, painting the appearance of a foreigner. In fact, that would be Midoriya's first assumption, had she not noticed the vaguely-Japanese features that lined his wrinkled expression.

"You look like something's bothering you too, kid. Want to talk about it?"

Those were the first words he said to her.

"Sure."

For some strange reason, Midoriya felt a wave of relief wash over her.

For the first time in her life, someone had offered to listen.

The man—Toshinori Yagi—smiled.

"Take a seat, then."


	4. Chapter 3

**Two chapters in one day. I know, I'm a generous patriarch.**

 **Jesting aside, I know stories involving OCs aren't universally loved, but I felt like expanding on the lore that Kohei Horikoshi left us, specifically on how some quirks are more akin to curses than blessings.**

 **Back to middle school drama next chapter.**

* * *

Break wobbled on his unsteady legs, throwing open the bathroom door just in time to save himself the indignity of puking all over his clothes. The hotel AC may have been blasting air directly into his face with the sound of a thousand hooves, but he could still hear the sirens just outside his window.

 _I did it. I actually did it._ Break would be laughing if vomit wasn't dripping from his mouth.

It was difficult to stand up, so Break did it slowly, holding tightly to the rim of the sink as he rinsed his mouth of the vile taste. After splashing some water against the pale of his skin, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Auburn, like his mother.

A frame like a fiend.

Piercing blue eyes.

No presence—a complete lack of character.

Don't be too much. Be nobody. Break was always good at pretending to be what he was supposed to be.

It was hard to imagine himself in the past—an idealistic youth, chasing his dreams like young children chased their friends. The cold bags underneath his eyes spoke volumes; an entire history left untold, if not for the shaking that was threatening his very core. The vertigo had not yet left his body, and he was on the border of being sent into another round of retching.

Was undergoing his mission really that wise?

Break didn't even have to ask himself that question. He knew it wasn't.

Break—real name Christopher Fletcher—wanted to rip off his clothes and take a hot shower, but the sirens were still at the forefront of his attention. His luck wasn't something infallible, and pushing it would end in his downfall. Instead, he began to chug a bottle of mouthwash, taking great care not to swallow it, and rinsed out the last of that vile aftertaste from his mouth. The burning sensation, as it were, calmed him down. But only slightly.

He had just committed the greatest crime ever known to hero-kind. No, maybe to the world.

And not a single person had realized he did it.

Although his eyes were normally an azure-like color, they were faded now. Almost as bleak as the bathroom tiles he stood upon. A temporary drawback due to heavy-utilization of his quirk.

Interim Takeover.

The weather was frightful, raining down an epic of biblical proportions. It was an all-out assault on the babeldom of grays and monotone of the city.

 _Sometimes, I wish I could tell people the truth._

 _I'd tell them my real name, and my past._

 _But right now, I had to live with their beliefs._

" _Break, the Mind Manipulation Hero"? Don't make me laugh._

 _If I were good enough to be called a "hero", I would've retired years ago._

Break parted his hair. It was short and neat, not the flamboyant and messy variants that most heroes utilized. The short and neat was less iconic, more normal. Perfect for blending into a crowd.

 _Heaven bless America, the land where everyone stands out more than you do._

From the hotel window, Break could see the police officers conversing underneath the canvas of shade that a single restaurant provided. They were talking to a cavalcade of heroes, but only two had any merit.

Sir Avalanche and Great Moth.

Sir Avalanche—real name Stanley McLelland—looked about the same as he did five years ago. Perhaps he's made of the same material as his armor—a cold sheen of ice, just as his emotions. Break could imagine his voice now: ragged, without softness.

Meanwhile, Great Moth, also known as Keagan Corbeld, feigned disinterest as he examined the cityscape. However, Break knew his quirk intimately. Right now, he was keeping a close eye on the surrounding area, searching for a person that matched his description.

Break wasn't supposed to know their identities, of course, but it's hard to hide things from someone who can take over minds.

Sir Avalanche was currently going through marital strife. He had abused his wife on several occasions, with his end goal to genetically design a "superior hero", whose mixture of quirks would pose a threat to villains across the globe. Break had several detailed memories—coffee mugs flying, cinder bricks held up high with a snarl and then, a smug grin. Her fear was apparent, but in the memory, Break felt just as Sir Avalanche did. Not an inch of remorse.

It was for the betterment of civilization, after all.

Great Moth, in contrast, was unmarried and a heavy introvert. He was also a feminist. Break had no doubt that, had he found out about Sir Avalanche's escapades, they would not be working together right now. Indeed, he had a sense of mortality, but he was also invested heavily into his own self-entitlement and justifications. He was spending much of his influence on pushing the country into a socialist doctrine, run by an absolute dictator who possessed a unique quirk. The end goal, naturally, was to see the country turned into a safe haven for heroes, in which they had unlimited power of law.

Their fans, of course, had no idea of the work being done behind the scenes. Break wasn't supposed to know this, of course.

But it's hard to hide things from someone who can take over minds.

Break grinned, his plan falling into place as he threw on his coat—a brown trench button-up made from a fleece-like fabric.

He had just committed the greatest crime in history, to the detriment of heroes everywhere.

And after seeing what they were like behind closed doors, he felt not an inch of remorse.


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey, I made a FictionPress account! You can visit it by going to the FictionPress website with the following user ID:** u/1123861/ **! Alternatively, just look up "** Austerulous" **on Google.**

 **If any of you are interested in checking out stories I've begun to write that aren't set in already-existent fictional worlds, please give it a shot. I could use some constructive feedback.**

 **Now, onward to the main reason you're here: middle school romance. It's a bit short, so I'll try to write more later today. Look out for updates!**

* * *

Midoriya told Yagi everything that was on her mind.

It was a long conversation, as expected. Every so often, Toshinori Yagi would stop her ramblings in order to ask her to elaborate on an unclear detail.

"And then, he picked up my hero notes like he was about to throw them out the window—…"

"In the end, did he?"

"Well, no—…"

Toshinori Yagi nodded along to the young girl's complaints, doing his very best to comprehend the babeldom of words that spewed out of her mouth. When she finally arrived to the confession, the frazzled man held up a hand in order to cease her verbiage assault, if only for a moment.

"You suddenly sped up even more, kid. Speak a bit slower or I won't be able to understand you."

"Ah, right."

Upon concluding the recent events that had left her deep in thought, Yagi stood, causing Midoriya's eyes to drift toward his hollow frame.

"S-Sir—..?"

"Call me Yagi."

"Y-Yes!"

Still a bit frazzled after describing her most recent thoughts, Midoriya stood, following Yagi over to the edge of the railing.

"Relationships aren't the end-all-be-all of life, Young Midoriya."

"Pardon?"

Midoriya looked up at Yagi with confused eyes, causing Yagi to let out a small sigh in harmony to the slight breeze that brushed past his hair.

"Take these moments to consider what you want to do with Young Bakugou."

"What I want to do—..?"

Midoriya frowned, tapping an idle finger against the railing.

"I want to be his friend."

"Is that all?"

Midoriya pulled at the ends of her hair.

"I also...want to become closer with him."

"I see."

Yagi turned, his back leaning up against the railing to glance at the rising sun.

"This is my advice to you, Young Midoriya, listen well."

"O-Of course!"

Toshinori Yagi smiled, his teeth forming a jagged line across his concave face.

"A trial basis."

"Trial...basis?"

"Give it a shot. If you don't like it, you don't have to commit. By the sound of your voice, I can tell you're at least interested in the prospect of Young Bakugou, correct?"

"W-Well…"

Midoriya fell silent for a moment, then nodded firmly.

"In that case, do what your heart desires. Become closer to Young Bakugou, and perhaps you can fall in love with him one day."

"A relationship...with the goal of falling in love?"

"Indeed."

Yagi turned back to face the bottomless city below.

"I believe all humans have the strength within themselves to become better, and it seems Young Bakugou is making strides in the right path. One day, you'll—…"

Suddenly, Yagi coughed up a spire of blood.

"Y-Yagi-sensei!" Midoriya's eyes began moving frantically around the rooftop in an attempt to find anything that might be useful, "W-What, I don't, um—…"

Yagi placed a hand on Midoriya's shoulder.

"I'm—…fine, don't worry," he said, wiping his mouth against his sleeve.

"What do you—…"

Yagi held up his shirt, showcasing the massive indention near his chest.

"An old injury, don't let it bother you too much. It's gotten as much medical attention as it deserved."

"Ah, I see—…"

Yagi dropped his shirt, walking across the rooftop toward the exitway.

"Remember, Young Midoriya. Life is more than fleeting memories. It's a learning experience. Keep living with a smile on your face, and one day—…"

With that, another spire of blood launched from Yagi's lips.

"A-Again?!"


End file.
